A/N: *Sigh* See, what happens is, when I write, I have these basic outlines of what's going to happen in each chapter. But then, when I start actually writing the chapter, 99 percent of the time, it's those darn details that make the chapters just grow and grow. So basically, what I thought would happen in Ch. 18 gets pushed back to Ch. 19, then Ch. 20…etc., or else, we'd have ten thousand word chapters, lol.
All that is to say, since I said I'd try to update again today, here's at least a short chapter. I'll try to update again early next week to get to what I thought we would've gotten to already last chapter, lol. (If that makes any sense). We'll see. :)
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to either history or me.
Chapter 19 – The Incident with the Tricorn
As soon as I dismount Aro, the dragoon James calls Jenks rushes forward as if readying to take the reins from me.
"Ensign, my musket I yielded you with little issue, but the only way you shall have these reins from me is if you pry them from my cold, dead hands."
When Aro throws back his large, ebony head and releases a series of anxious grunts, the ensign takes a swift step back.
"Sir, I…" he stutters, his rounded eyes on the thoroughbred, "I merely meant to tie-"
James snickers behind me. "Lay off, Jenks, and allow the man to secure his horse. There are few things Edward values more than his ebony beast. Edward, I give you my word; no one shall touch, Aro."
I neither reply nor look at him, for I require a few moments to compose myself lest I do something insane. As I secure Aro to the post, I shut my eyes for one moment. There is a furious tempo beating within my chest. It magnifies the fire scalding my veins and intensifies the sharp pinpricks at my scalp.
Swallowing, I recall the vision of my wife this morn, standing resplendent before the windows with the sun's rays illuminating both her naked form and all that within her both beautiful and innocent.
Help me not fail her.
The memory of that vision shall forever be my calming amulet. With a long, deep breath, I turn and make my way into my tavern.
OOOOOOOOOO
The commotion within the tavern is at total odds with the subdued atmosphere without. Despite my inward preparations, the cacophony takes me by surprise – yet not as much as does the sight before me.
My father's and my tavern, our haven for brotherhood, for those believers in our Cause, the very place where we gather for daily discussion and plans toward our struggle for freedom…now crawls with Lobsterbacks.
"Mother of all…"
Such fire licks at my soul I know not how I shall keep from howling at the top of my lungs.
Like scarlet rodents, they are everywhere – scurrying to and fro, at every table in their bright coats and white wigs, laughing merrily and jesting with one another as they imbibe from our tankards. They bang these tankards against the wooden tables and the walls as they toast one another. The man behind the counter grins at their asinine behavior, for a known loyalist he be. He is indeed not the man Father and I left in charge – for the man we left in charge currently sits on the dirt-ground outside, tied to more of our brothers.
For a few moments, I can neither move nor swallow.
In the meanwhile, James strides toward the bar counter, the gold-braided hem of his sickeningly green dragoon coat waving behind him. He greets a couple of dragoons already standing there as he lifts a tankard, which has been awaiting him. When he brings it to his mouth, he swills its contents in large, noisy gulps 'til the tankard is vertical. Only then does he pull away from the empty container, banging it on the counter as he makes a sound of pure appreciation.
"Ahhh! Another!" he instructs the loyalist bartender.
"Yes, sir."
Aye, the bastard is enjoying every moment of this. When he finally turns to acknowledge me, his sneer is as predictably taunting as I imagined. He knows well what I now witness is one of the biggest insults he can ever offer me.
"Come join us, Edward!" he calls.
But as he stood there, playing his part, I have had sufficient time to compose myself. Removing my tri-cornered hat, I school my features and make my way forward.
The falter in James' smug grin lasts merely a fraction of a moment, barely noticeable to anyone who has not known the man since he was pissing in his short pants. I imagine by this point, he hoped I would have already provided an excuse to pull muskets on me, and the impassiveness in my face confounds him. Yet, he recovers quickly, and as he languidly leans a forearm over the counter, what ensues is a game of cat and mouse he and I have played many times before.
"How goes the farm business?" He grins. "You and our friends have been away for some time."
"It goes well, James," I reply evenly as I rest my hat on the counter. "'Tis harvest time; therefore, harvest business becomes the priority. Although you being the magistrate's son, you would not know of harvests, would you?" I grin.
He laughs heartily and claps me on the shoulder before once more lifting the tankard, which is refilled for him.
"I would not," he admits readily.
"He is Captain Pitman now as his stripes indicate, disrespectful farmboy, and you shall address him as such!"
The command erupts just to my right side. With a curious sort of grin, I turn slowly toward a dragoon, whose mouth is twisted in a scowl.
"Is it now? Interesting."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" James cuts in. He sets down his tankard and stands between us, frowning deeply. "Easy, Ensign. 'Tis you who should be showing respect. Why, do you not know who this be?"
The ensign appears lost.
"He is one of the owners of this fine establishment and therefore responsible for the merriment in which you have been partaking as well as the fine…imported spirits which you have been enjoying the past, few days. Is that not right, Edward?" His grin widens all the more.
For a handful of seconds, I merely hold his gaze. Then, I snort. "Aye. Aye, that is correct, James," I stress, for I shall address him as Captain when my cock falls off.
Once again, there is a slight, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips. Whether it be because I have not addressed him as Captain or because I have not attempted to deny anything, I know not. Likely, 'tis a combination of the two.
"Forgive the ensign, Edward, for he is newly arrived from New York Colony and not yet familiar with our neighborhood."
I shrug carelessly.
"We have had…an interesting few days here in Freehold Township."
"I have heard."
His eyes tighten at my seemingly nonchalant attitude. Once more, he picks up his tankard.
"You and our friends have been away for long, Edward, on your farmboy business, and you have missed much."
I chuckle lightly. "We have heard that your new major and your regiment are at the heart of all which has occurred."
He and his fellow dragoons surrounding us laugh. They take swigs and wipe their disgusting faces with the back of their hands, shake those spittle-filled hands over my floors and the counter, bump and elbow my hat with their dirty, filthy arms and hands.
"Take care with my hat, if you will," I say. "'Twas a gift from my father."
"Take care you do not disturb his hat, men," James says. "Edward is ever careful with his belongings."
Still, I grin.
"Aye; the major and our regiments quelled the rebels' attempt to rise against the crown. 'Twas a bit chaotic," James muses after another swallow. "So many men we considered friends turned out to be nothing more than rebel patriots, who thought they would rule Freehold. Now, look at them," he sneers, gesturing with his pointed chin toward the stocks and pillory outside.
I cross my arms over my chest in a show of indifferent apathy. "To rule Freehold was their intent? Truly?"
James nods slowly. "Which is why we now celebrate. We have quelled their rebellion, taken their weapons, and if they do not swear an oath of allegiance to His Majesty, then there is a prison ship in New York Colony awaiting them." When he raises his tankard to me and takes another swig, he keeps his eyes closely on me.
"How did you insert yourself into my tavern, James?"
His ensuing snicker almost breaks me. Almost.
"Martial law was declared for all of Monmouth County, and as such, every building and property in the county is now open to search, and if applicable, to seizure." The widest grin yet overspreads his face. "Imagine my surprise when we searched the tavern and found the best smuggled rum in all of Monmouth County."
And there it be: my crime spoken aloud; though, little does he know it be the lesser by far of many crimes I have committed, and which I am ready to commit at the moment.
Wild laughter erupts all around us.
"I thank you," I say with a slow nod. "We are proud indeed of our rum, for 'tis made from the finest molasses on the islands, and aged for many months in oak barrels. But I should not be surprised you enjoy it, for you have experienced it many times in the past."
Here, the grin he sports dissolves completely. "I have not," he seethes, banging down his tankard over the counter. "I had no awareness of your smuggling activities."
Silence.
Tilting my head, I lift an eyebrow before making a show of drawing in a breath and releasing it slowly.
"In the past, James, I have allowed you to partake at no cost, for we are good friends, are we not?" I grin mockingly. "However," – again, I make a show, this time of sweeping my gaze 'round the red-and-green-coat-infested tavern – "as it appears you and your other friends have had quite the celebration, and I would wager a goodly amount that very few, if any, oak barrels of rum remain, I am afraid I shall have to charge you for the entire shipment."
I take full advantage of James' gaping mouth to continue.
"So, let us see. Twenty barrels of Caribbean rum, each barrel holding twenty-six gallons, is five hundred and twenty gallons. The current price on Caribbean rum be two shillings, five pence per gallon, which means you owe a tab of…" I squint an eye and look up at the wood-beamed ceiling as I perform the mental calculations, "sixty-two pounds, eighty-three shillings, and one pence," I say, returning my eyes to James. "And I shall like payment now if you please."
"Are you…are you jesting me?" James inquires when he recovers the ability to speak. "Believe you that I asked you in here so that I may recompense you for your smuggled rum?" He lays a hand on my shoulder. "Edward, my friend, your recompense shall be the stocks." The rest of his words are hissed through clenched teeth. His grip on my shoulder tightens as his grip on his feigned composure weakens, for I have always, always been the one who knows how to undo him. "You are a thief, a sneak of the worst kind. What think you we have been awaiting here as we enjoyed your smuggled wares?"
I merely keep my arms crossed in front of me, watching him.
"Friend," he scoffs. "You and I quit being friends the day you stole-"
"James, refrain from speaking the rest of that thought; I warn you." Now, I am the one who speaks through clenched teeth, for I also know James knows not how to heed a warning.
"-the day you stole Isabella-"
I throw off James' grip on me so swiftly he falls back against the counter and topples his tankard. As the molasses liquid splatters, I reach to the side of him, and under my now rum-soaked hat for the knife it conceals, holding it to his throat before he even straightens.
"That is twice you have spoken her name. There shall not be a third."
Chaos erupts around me, and I know I am mere seconds away from being either shot or run through.
"Hold back your fellow dragoons," I sneer, pushing the very tip of the blade against his skin.
"Stop! Stop!" he yells. "Everyone, stay back!"
"I do not ever, ever want to hear her name fall from your filthy mouth again," I hiss. "Is that understood?"
"You shall hear nothing for you shall hang for this," he breathes in return. "And then I-"
"ENOUGH!"
The uproar ceases instantly, but I ignore the command, which came from behind me, from the direction of the tavern doors.
"Then you what?" I demand.
"Mr. Cullen, step back!" Major Swan orders. I vaguely hear him ask in furiously rushed tones, "Did he strike him?"
"No, sir. He pushed off the captain's hand, and aye, he is holding the blade to this throat, but he has not struck him."
"Then you WHAT?" I howl, digging in the blade enough to pierce James' skin. He releases a sharp grunt through his nostrils, his glare overflowing with pure loathing, but he does not reply.
"Mr. Cullen, step back this instant, and drop the blade!"
"Then I will be alive…and you will not," James smirks.
"That is not what you were going to say," I snarl.
"It is."
"It is NOT WHAT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY!"
"MR. CULLEN, THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING! Step back from the captain, and set down your blade, or you shall hang!"
"Edward! Damnation! Edward, think of Isabella!"
'Tis Emmett. Her name spoken by a friend rather than foe recalls that image to me…of my wife standing by the window with the morning sun on her.
Help me not fail her.
My nostrils flare. I blink successively. Then…I set down the knife on the counter and take a step back.
James straightens and delivers a fisted blow to my jaw. I stumble back a half-step, yet before I may retaliate, the Major shouts,
"HOLD THEM BOTH BACK!"
The next thing I know, there are more than a few pairs of arms wound 'round me.
A/N: Thoughts?
So, did I leave you all in a better or in a worse place for the weekend? Lol. Either way, enjoy your weekend. :)
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